Chapter Text
Victor bends down close to the worksheet, tapping his pencil against the table, as if his proximity to his homework is an indicator of how intent he is on the work. He thinks maybe it's math, but it might be science - something involving numbers. He can’t focus, too busy listening to Lilia as she confers with the government man in the next room.
They always act like he’s not even there anymore once the usual exam is over. Stupid. Just because his hearing isn’t a enhanced sense doesn’t mean he’s deaf.
“The agency is pleased with your progress on his schooling,” the man says. “But there are some other concerns.”
“Oh? Lilia’s tone is sweet, but there’s a warning sting at the tip that makes Victor sit up straighter in his chair. “What concerns would those be?”
Victor can’t see them, so he can only imagine how the government man might be reacting in the short pause that follows. Then, quieter, the agent says, “There are some questions about the hair.”
“Vitya has lovely hair.” Ouch. If the agent has half a brain, he’ll hear that snap in her voice. Victor is wincing, and it’s not even directed at him.
His hair, though? He pulls his long silver braid around to the front, peering at the end. Have his split ends gotten that bad?
“If you need a recommendation for a discrete barber, the agency has a few on staff.” Another mysterious pause. “It’s the length. I’m sure you understand, in your line of work. Some of the officers are concerned that it makes him look a bit, well, you know…”
The government man trails off, but he’s said enough. The pencil slips from Victor’s fingers, rolls off the table, and clatters against the linoleum. Victor swoops down to grab it and sits up to find Lilia leaning around the corner to check on him.
He flashes her a quick smile, then sets his pen and eyes back to his work as if it were any other accident. His heart is pounding, and he can only hope none of it shows on his face. He stares down at the worksheet. It’s biology. The diagrams of insects and birds seem to swarm on the page, skittering toward his fingers.
“Listen,” Lilia is saying in the next room. Her voice is quieter, and he has to strain his hearing to follow her words. “If Vitya wants to become a super villain, that is your business. If his powers suddenly vanish tomorrow, that is your business. But if Vitya wants to grow his hair to his ankles, that is his choice. If he wants to wear a tutu to fight crime, then as long as he can still do his job, you will say ‘thank you very much for saving those people’. And if, someday, he falls in love, then the only response I expect from your agency is a congratulatory gift, regardless of who he chooses to be with.”
Silence. Then Lilia adds, “If your agency has a problem with that, you'll have to take us back to court. Do we have a problem?”
If the man has a verbal response to that, it’s not one Victor can hear. A moment later, the front door clicks as the man closes it on his way out.
Lilia probably knows why, when Victor walks up behind her later. He hugs her from behind, and she stiffens in his arms. They're not affectionate this way. He presses his forehead to the space between her sharp shoulder blades, closes his eyes and breathes in the familiar smell of rosewater and shoe leather. She lays a hand over his arms where where they wrap around her waist and says nothing.